


Prime Directive

by JadedTimberwolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse (non-romantic relationship), Amnesia/memory loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Forced Servitude, Gen, M/M, Omnic Racism, Omnicism?, Past/referenced character death, Unfair power structures I guess, follows canon fairly closely, if that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedTimberwolf/pseuds/JadedTimberwolf
Summary: Zenyatta's memory gets wiped, and he's forced to start an entirely new life for himself. All he can recall is his identification number and his original programmed purpose. After getting sold into a new position just outside King's Row in London, life goes on pretty much as he expects it to, until a stranger finds him and starts calling him by a name he does not recognize.





	1. Chapter 1

He had not expected his first activation to be so...so…

Well, he wasn’t sure what to expect at all, to be honest. The code currently running through him and initiating his startup protocol whispered faint images of a pristine, automated factory and many other units like him. Maybe that was what he had been expecting? But the current data regarding his surroundings did not seem to match up; instead of a state-of-the-art assembly line, he found himself gaining consciousness on a rusty-looking table with a very _not_ state-of-the-art terminal hooked up to his circuits through his arm.

Simple? No. Rustic? He took a brief moment to skim through his programmed languages for a proper word.

Rudimentary. The conditions of his first activation seemed rather rudimentary. That was a good way to describe it.

Of course, he, an Omnic, did not have too long to lay there and dwell on such circumstances. A human female who had been sitting near the terminal rolled her desk chair closer, detaching the old computer’s access cable from him with a few practiced, deliberate movements. For a woman of such a broad build, she completed her work deftly, practically silent.

 _“Get up,”_ the woman finally ordered. His code registered the language as German, and he complied easily, getting used to the feeling of his robotic limbs and rusted joints as he sat up (Rust? That did not match his expectations either; wasn’t this ‘factory’ that his programming kept suggesting to him supposed to use new parts?).

Once seated upright on the edge of the table, he watched quietly as the human before him grabbed a pen and clipboard from atop her desk, leaning back in her seat as she settled in.

“State your unit identification number and model function.” She spoke in English now, and he adjusted his set language accordingly.

“Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA. Function: Personal Medical Assistant. Awaiting orders.”

The programmed response translated easily into words. The woman scribbled a few notes onto her clipboard before rattling off more requests, such as raising his arms above his head, stating the time of day, and listing off his programmed languages and functions.

The session was interrupted when another human, this one a male, opened the door to the small room without knocking. He was dressed in the same beige mechanic’s outfit as the woman was, though his was covered in considerably less obvious grease.

 _“Hey Köhler, any luck on the bot?”_ He asked, speaking in German like the woman had done before.

“ _What does it fucking look like, idiot?”_ The woman responded. The man -- apparently named “Idiot”, which seemed a tad strange -- leaned lazily on the door by its doorknob and scoffed.

“ _Yeah, whatever, you woke him up. Listen, the representative from our corporate contact just told us he wants his original order of guard bots doubled. Think this one will work?”_

 _“No.”_ Köhler finished jotting something down on her clipboard before swiveling her chair to look at him properly. “ _This one’s servant-class, strict civilian use only. He’s not one of the ones wired for combat.”_

“ _C’mon, can’t you just make him a military class or something? Swap the programming around--”_

_“On our budget? No way. What we get from the scrap is what we get.”_

_“Then what the hell am I supposed to tell our client? We can’t give them half of a shipment!”_ Idiot exclaimed.

_“Not my problem. Listen, just go talk to Lanse or something. He and Zimmermann just pulled a fresh heap of bots from the scrapyard today, maybe a few of them will fit the order if we get them working.”_

_“Whatever. Does that one check out at least?”_ Idiot asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the table. Köhler shrugged.

_“He functions fine enough. Might as well just add him to the shipment heading out to Manchester tomorrow morning. He’d sell quick there.”_

_“Fine. But first I gotta save my ass before our biggest client gets pissy with us.”_ With that, Idiot waltzed out of the room and let the door slam behind him, and the Omnic found himself alone with Köhler again. The woman sighed, taking a moment to massage her temples as she rolled her chair back over to her desk. His sensors recognized her symptoms as a stress headache, and he naturally sought out the optimal treatment in his data banks: one aspirin or other similar pain-relief tablet, taken with water, and a break from stressful activities until the headache subsides. Possibility of a need for sleep if headache prolongs itself.

He was about to inform Köhler of her medical needs when she spoke up, automatically signaling for him to sit and wait.

“Alright, Omnic, back to quality check. Rotate wrists to full range of motion.”

After Köhler was done with him, she led him out of the room with the terminal and down a hallway made purely of concrete. There were no windows, the only light source the white fluorescent tubes running along the low ceiling. The environmental sensors on the undersides of his plating registered the building as colder than average, but he did not feel compelled to voice a complaint. Köhler led him to a row of heavy metallic doors and unlocked one, quickly ushering him inside. The space was barely big enough to fit two humanoids, but at least there was a wooden bench bolted into the wall.

“Wait here. They will pick you up in the morning.” With that, Köhler locked the door on him and walked back down the hall without another word. He sat down on the bench and assumed his default sitting position: back straight, hands folded in his lap, and silent.

So far, being activated wasn’t so bad. It seemed simple enough, just following basic commands.

He checked his programmed time of day and calculated the time remaining until tomorrow morning. By his estimation, he was going to be waiting in here for a while. To busy himself, the Omnic began to cycle through and review his programming, seeing what he was fully capable of. Now that he was newly activated, he should probably get to know himself a little better.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant._ _  
Recognized Forms of Address: Z3N-YTTA, Omnic._

_Prime Directive: Wait for morning_.

\--

The human who came to fetch him in the morning was approximately 31 minutes and 28 seconds over the time he had initially estimated, although in truth, he may have miscalculated at one point or another. Soon enough, he was escorted outside into what his sensors registered as the middle of winter. He was told to line up alongside other Omnics, the majority of them civilian-class, he noticed, as multiple humans buzzed around a snow-dusted air strip. Not five minutes later did a battered old cargo plane roll out of its hangar and onto the strip, and as a result, he was herded into the back of it with the rest of his kind. The cargo hold was at least spacious enough that it allowed them all at least some room for movement, even enough for some Omnics to sit down. A human worker barked at the lot of them over the rattling of the plane’s engine to be quiet and not cause any trouble during the flight. Naturally, they all complied.

The flight to Manchester, England was a turbulent but mercifully short flight, much shorter than the time he had spent waiting in that small room for morning. During the ride, he allowed himself to make note of the other units filling the cargo hold alongside him. Some Omnics were visibly more pleased to be there then others, a small few even seeming cranky about their new assignment. The most of them were still civilian-class, as he had observed previously, but upon closer inspection, the majority of the Omnics on the plane with him had their own fair share of rust patches and exposed wiring. He paused, briefly taking a moment to examine the brown stains of oxidation and the deep, angled scratches that marred sections of his own limbs. Unlike some of his fellow Omnics, he also wore a pair of shredded yellow trousers, though he was not really sure what made him unique enough to have clothing over the others like him. Köhler had implied a financial strain with her conversation with Idiot. Perhaps the factory had simply run out of new parts for him as he had speculated? He did not particularly care if his parts were new or not, however; he was simply glad that he had been activated, practically anxious to see what fate awaited him.

A harsh jerk forward alerted the Omnics that they had successfully touched down in Manchester, where they were then quickly ushered from the back of a plane into the back of a semi-truck. Again they were told to be quiet, this time not to alert the authorities. They rode along in complete darkness for another half-hour, until the back of the semi-trailer slid open and the herd of Omnics were allowed down the ramp and into the sunlight of early afternoon. It was warmer than before, but not by much; again, soft patches of pristine white snow peppered the cobblestone street underneath the crowd's metallic feet. A gentle breeze swept up a few drifting snowflakes and let them twirl amongst each other. Z3N-YTTA observed how the soft light caught on the crystalline icicles that hung from the roof of the otherwise plain warehouse he now found himself in front of. Despite his interest in his surroundings, he did not have time to stand and gawk. More human workers had already begun to sort Omnics into different subgroups, dragging them away in all sorts of directions. It was probably for the best, anyways: his medical data informed him that it was unhealthy to stand outside in winter for too long without proper insulation.

The next few hours were rather enjoyable, he had to admit. He was separated from the large crowd of humans and Omnics alike and brought into another enclosed room. There, a pair of human attendants set to work on him. Together, they sanded and buffed out his various scratches, polished and oiled away even the most persistent of rust, until the metal plating along his limbs was once again smooth and pristine. They snipped or tucked down any exposed wires that did not seem to serve a purpose anymore, tightened loose screws, and even lathered him in a fresh coat of warm wax. The two moved on and took his measurements, and soon enough, his yellow rags were replaced by a white collared shirt, black trousers, polished shoes, and suspenders to match. The outfit was complete with a simple grey newsie hat. Upon looking at himself in a nearby mirror, he concluded that he cleaned up rather well, if he did say so himself.

That was nice of those humans to do for him, he thought to himself. Not long after his upgrades were completed, another human attendant entered his room to lead him elsewhere in the building. Somewhat to his surprise, the attendant directed him through a curtain and onto a stage, the bright lights directed down at him from somewhere above almost blinding to his optic sensors. On stage with him was a man standing at a podium off to the side, busying himself by speaking rapid-fire into a microphone and listing off aspects that he already knew about himself, such as his identification number and programmed function. While it was hard to see anything from up on stage, he could hear the presence of a large crowd just before him, shifting and whispering amongst each other.

The attendant had told him to stand still on stage, and so he did. The man at the podium then listed a dollar value, and after some back and forth amongst the audience, a gavel came down and he was again ushered off stage to the side.

He had been activated for less than a full 24 hours and yet so much had already happened. Was existence always this busy?

Shortly after being directed off-stage, he was presented to another human gentleman, this one with a mustache and an expensive-looking suit. The man eyed him quickly, performing an up-close inspection before verifying his purchase, and within the next few minutes, Z3N-YTTA found himself seated in the posh leather seat in the back of a limousine, parked just outside the Manchester warehouse. Mr. Mustache climbed in shortly after him.

“So, medical expert, eh? You’re going to suit my boss’ needs just fine, I think,” he commented. The Omnic observed as his fellow passenger pulled out a cigar and ignited the tip with a silver lighter. “Got yourself a name, Omnic?”

“My unit identification number is Z3N--”

“Yes, I’m aware, I have your documentation. I suppose that means you don’t have a name, then. Very well, Mr. Harris will come up with a suitable one for you. Ever been to London, perchance?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you’re a lucky fellow, then.”

It was then that the limo slowly began to lurch forward, making its way out towards a main road. Mr. Mustache took a long drag from his cigar and lazily exhaled a pair of smoke rings, seemingly pleased with himself. The Omnic beside him was tempted to warn him about the numerous risk factors surrounding habitual smoking and tobacco use, but something suggested to him that perhaps Mr. Mustache was well aware of those health risks already. After a brief pause, the man spoke up again.

“Mr. Harris has been looking for a good assistant for some time now. I would advise that you perform your function admirably, lest something...unfortunate, were to happen. Understand, pal?”

“Yes, sir.”

The human ignored him after that, opting to chew at the end of his cigar and stare at the night sky through the tinted limousine window instead. As always, the Omnic sat precisely where he was told to sit, obediently awaiting his next command.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant.  
Recognized Forms of Address: Z3N-YTTA, Omnic, pal (?)._

_Prime Directive: Go to London and work for Mr. Harris...whoever that may be_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering about Genji, he'll show up fairly soon. As to why, you'll just have to wait and find out. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to becksterRES for being awesome and helping me edit and rework the majority of this chapter! Definitely check out her work here on AO3 if you like Shadowhunters!

As the limousine pulled up to Mr. Theodore Harris’ London estate, Z3N-YTTA quickly concluded that said Mr. Harris very likely had an… _excessive_ personality.

Through the tinted window of the limo, his optic sensors scanned a large, well-maintained front yard and a marble fountain sitting at the center of the roundabout that served as a driveway. Despite the wintry time of year, Harris’ lawn was clear of snow, the grass precisely mowed. The Omnic felt a tingle run up the back of his circuits in response to a strong electrical current as the limousine passed through an intricate black-iron gate. Surely that level of voltage wouldn’t be safe if someone were to touch the fence?

He politely waited until the limousine pulled to a stop before the front marble steps of the estate, and, as his common etiquette protocol dictated, he continued to wait with Mr. Mustache until the driver came around to open the door. All of a sudden, the human’s leather-rough hand wrapped around the metal bearings of his wrist. Mustache dragged him out of the backseat and up onto the front porch, not even allowing him a moment to thank the Omnic driver for his service (which his etiquette protocol also suggested to do). The Omnic snatched his wrist back from the man a few seconds later. He was very capable of standing by himself, thank you very much. It’s not like he was activated yester-- wait. Right.

Much like how he remembered Köhler doing for him the day before, the human led Z3N-YTTA through the manor to yet another room, leaving him there after bidding him goodnight. He realized that he once again had a moment to himself, and slowed his pace a tad as he examined his new surroundings. His environmental analysis systems took information in quickly; the room was modest in size, but at least it was bigger than the claustrophobic cell and the crowded cargo hold. Final analysis: a twin-sized bed, a nightstand fit with a lamp, and a dusty wardrobe shoved off into the corner.

He pressed his metal palm into the bed to test the give of it, and found the mattress to be rather stiff. Omnics did not necessarily have to sleep, according to the cyclical rhythm of his self-renewing power core, but the gesture was appreciated regardless. He moved to the wardrobe, and unsurprisingly, the wardrobe was empty (save for even more dust and cobwebs), but for now he had nothing to place in it to fill its void. Would he ever have anything to put in it? None of his programming showcased any need for personal belongings. Perhaps there was more to being activated that he hadn’t quite deciphered yet. Maybe the code would reveal itself in time?

All that was left was a shuttered window built into the out-facing wall of his new quarters. The place seemed comfortable enough, he concluded.

After adjusting his inner clock slightly to match the new local time, he found that it was almost three in the morning here in London. Mr. Harris, along with the other humans living at the estate, were likely all in the middle of participating in a healthy sleeping cycle at this hour, as most humans do. It looks like he would be forced to wait _again_. As a servant-class, however, he figured that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

It was then that he noticed a persistent gust of wind rattling against the twin wooden shutters of his window, and he moved to readjust the latch and stop it.

He paused. Through the fogged-up waves of the decorative glass, his sensors detected a flash of color, a gentle swath of greens and blues, shining through with the light from outside. Intriguing. He lifted a metal finger and undid the latch, pushing the twin panes of his window open and letting the breeze sweep in to chill the room and tickle his temperature gauge.

The flurry of lights was revealed to be a mass grouping of skyscrapers some kilometers north of Mr. Harris’ neighborhood. Strange. After allowing his systems to perform a quick geographical evaluation, he concluded that the area was likely downtown London, the main district for economics and tourism in the region. His scans informed him of the approximate population: 10 million. Ten million registered humans? That’s a lot! Surely if one or two of them got sick, it would mean the rest could easily be infected, right? What about the unregistered ones? Were Omnics like him included in that talley?

How curious! He continued by observing the cityscape on the horizon from the second-story window. The blue hues radiated off of various automated billboards that displayed different advertisements in precise, regular intervals. He watched as tiny fireflies -- no, not fireflies, he soon realized, just shuttle cars observed from a distance -- buzzed around the various buildings. Aren’t humans supposed to be asleep at this hour? He wondered if this downtown London was ever quiet with inactivity. The cold wind carried with it sounds of police sirens and construction; his data archives responded by automatically pulling up a reference guide for how to treat a work-related concussion, but he sorted it away as unnecessary for the time being.

Determined to better understand the strange city before him, he connected to his database and began to research whatever seemed important. If he was going to be the personal medical assistant that his programming indicated, then he better brush up on a few things!

He did not expect the research to get so...intricate, however. One data search kept turning into another as more and more information revealed itself. Cross-referencing the advertisements with their source material turned into him looking up similar items and their potential uses, which in turn led him to archived newspaper articles and looking up what ”postmodern journalism” even meant (pre-set reminder: nothing worthwhile). Then of course, researching the top speed of a modern hyperlane sportscar and its effects on the human body led to the detailed treatment of car accident victims, which then pointed him in the direction of a rather interesting-looking video documentary regarding the local assassination of a political figure from a few years prior, in his own private vehicle nonetheless…

His internal clock alerted him that it was dawn before the rising sun outside could. Had time really passed that quickly while he was distracted? He stood straight from leaning forward against the windowsill and readjusted any out-of-place parts of his clothing. Mr. Mustache had promised that he would be fetching him again soon.

As he made himself look presentable, the Omnic spared one last glance towards downtown London on the horizon, noting how the neon blue hues of the city contrasted well against the faded pinks of the newborn day.

He felt himself pause again. Reviewing the data and observations he had acquired so far, he realized something peculiar: despite how disorderly this world seemed at times, there were traces of an underlying pattern, one he had yet to completely fill in the algorithm for. It perplexed him, yes, but at the same time he felt drawn to it; a mathematical-yet-unpredictable element to everything around him.

Existence was mysterious, he concluded, and he left it at that.

\--

He was finally introduced to Mr. Harris properly during breakfast.

Theodore Harris, he observed, was most definitely a man deserving of respect. Or at least, his neatly-combed greying hair, trimmed goatee, and expensive tailor-made lounge suit made him appear like he deserved respect. The Omnic had yet to figure out if there was a difference.

When Mr. Mustache brought him before Harris and began with the introductions, his programming as a personal medical assistant was already scanning ahead and making note of things. He recognized some symptoms faster than others; the general ailments of old age and paraplegia, for starters, were quite easy. Though, in all honesty, the wheelchair helped give it away. Soon enough, his scans also recognized readings of diabetes as well as a chronic lung problem due to use of tobacco. Did _every_ human have to smoke around here?

It looked like he had his work cut out for him, that was at least assured.

Once the scans were complete, he felt Mr. Mustache give him a rough pat on the back before making his exit, leaving him alone with Harris in the dining hall. He did nothing but give an awkward wave as the human continued eyeing him with a thick air of scrutiny.

He waited until Harris finally seemed to draw some form of conclusion regarding him, and with a begrudged mumbling under his breath, he turned his wheelchair back to face his breakfast. A rather high-cholesterol containing breakfast, the Omnic noted. Looks like he had another thing to add to his watch list.

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, tin-can?” Harris spoke to him directly, his voice haggard and strained from his age, as well as his smoking habit. “Where’d they dig you up? The junkyard?”

Z3N-YTTA did not feel all that compelled to answer. A part of him was worried how the human would react if he did.

As his programming as a personal medical assistant dictated, he stood watch over Harris as he ate, though that didn’t stop the human from continuously side-eying him as the meal went on. It was the first time that morning that the Omnic noticed how all the seats surrounding the large mahogany dining table were empty, save for Harris at the head facing the kitchen. Elsewhere in the dining room, a human maid had made herself appear busy by dusting the same two framed paintings over and over again, though Harris hardly seemed to notice her presence.

As his initial scans had predicted, Mr. Harris soon broke out into a small coughing fit, covering his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket in a routine manner. To help him, Z3N-YTTA poured a fresh glass of water from the nearby pitcher and set it beside him. Harris smacked his hand away but accepted the drink, mumbling something incomprehensible to himself again before pressing the glass to his lips.

“Hey, helper bot, go make yourself useful and find my insulin in my room. I forgot to take my shot,” he instructed.

“Yes, Mr. Harris. I’ll return shortly.”

Z3N-YTTA turned, and less than a second later when he felt a fork collide with the back of his head. The projectile nearly carried enough force to knock his new cap off.

“Did nobody teach you to bow as you leave, or are you just stupid?” Harris shouted. The Omnic detected a sharp spike of blood pressure from Mr. Harris’ vitals as he spoke. Z3N-YTTA had been acquainted with his new boss for all of ten minutes, and already he had made the man upset. Was he doing something wrong?

“You best watch your manners, or else next time I will not be so forgiving. Understand, Omnic?”

He turned around again, gave a quick bow of apology to correct himself, and continued on his way to find Harris’ room. The master of the estate added a snappy “Make it quick!” as the door to the dining room clicked closed. That may be a problem, the Omnic mused to himself, considering he wasn’t quite sure where Mr. Harris’ room even was.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant.  
Recognized Forms of Address: Omnic, tin-can, helper bot._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris_.

\--

If Z3N-YTTA had thought the first two days of activation were busy, boy, had he been wrong.

The first month under Mr. Harris had been rather -- oh, what was a good way to put it? -- strenuous, to say the least. Very quickly he fell in line with his routine expectations: wake Harris up, help Harris dress and get into his chair, administer the first dose of insulin with breakfast, escort Harris around the premises while keeping a monitor on his glucose levels, administer the second dose of insulin at dinner, and help Harris out of his chair and into bed at the end of the day. Then, just as any obedient servant was expected to do, he would retreat to his own room. It was located just down the hall from the master suite, in case Harris had any difficulties during the night.

Harris, Z3N-YTTA soon learned, had a very _particular_ way of doing things. He also soon learned that Harris was quick to remind him of such particulars whenever something was not quite to his liking, whether it be the the time it took to get ready or simply the way his insulin was delivered. Naturally, his protocol when dealing with Harris updated frequently with each new altercation, such as adjusting his routine to begin a process earlier, or determining which way was best to dodge an incoming projectile. Simple in theory, yes, but definitely a step up from his first few days of instruction. Perhaps he was still re-calibrating, in some aspects.

Naturally, as the days went by, he had come to observe much about Harris and his estate while standing around awaiting orders. He had learned, for instance, that Harris was the head of one of the United Kingdom’s lead firearm manufacturing companies, overheard through conversations and phone calls Harris had in his personal office. Harris’ business specialized in refurbishing and reimagining old classics, like winchesters and tommy-guns (whatever those were), as well as pioneering in the new field of electropulse and plasma-based weapons (whatever _those_ were; maybe he was due for another data search sometime soon). But besides a few interesting tid-bits, he often tuned out the lengthy business negotiations in favor of monitoring Harris’ health from the side. He was a servant-class, not a marketing-class, after all; his prime directive made that perfectly clear.

Despite the promise of a proper name, Harris had yet to give him one. Instead, the man referred to him primarily as “helper bot”, with the occasional “tin-can” and “scrapheap” thrown around when he was in a bad mood. Which, according to the human’s fluctuating blood pressure, was often.

As Z3N-YTTA went about his business, his programming frequently reminded him to remember the positives of his position. So in his free time, he did just that.

Well, for starters, he had clothes. That was good! Next, he had his own room. That was also good! He could list a few more, but perhaps his favorite thing about his position was that once a week, he was permitted to leave the estate for an hour or so in order to pick up pharmaceutical supplies. For utmost efficiency, he determined and followed the quickest route through the neighborhood and into the market area of the King’s Row district, which is exactly where the Omnic currently found himself.

He was in the middle of the return trip back to Harris’ estate, bag of pharmaceuticals in tow as he maneuvered his way through the crowds of busy shoppers swarming the cobblestone streets of the marketplace. Soon enough he had made it into the lesser-traveled alleyways, which also happened to be the fastest way back to his destination. How convenient! He wondered why more people didn’t come this way.

Z3N-YTTA checked his current time and how long it would take him to return from here. At this rate, it appeared that he would make it back a few minutes early! Maybe Harris would be kind enough to reward him for his punctuality.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and promptly threw him into the brick wall of the alley, causing him to stumble and drop his bag of supplies. Well, that was rather rude. He turned back around to assess the situation. During his musings, he had apparently walked right past a pair of military-class Omnics without noticing them. The two were now towering over him expectantly. Did they need his assistance with something?

“Your unit identification number is not recognized. Pay your Null Sector protection fee or face neutralization.” One Omnic spoke in a highly-synthesized tone.

Protection fee? His previous review of the local region’s legal processes had said nothing about a protection fee. Besides, Harris only ever gave him enough money to purchase the medical necessities at the market. Perhaps if he calmly explained the situation, these fellow Omnics will understand.

“I am very sorry, gentlemen, but I have no money for this fee. Maybe if you were to talk this matter over with--”

“Units that are not an active participant in Null Sector deployment must pay a protection fee. Failure to comply will deem you a sympathizer to the humans and you will be neutralized as a result.” The second Omnic stated in the same synthetic timbre. Z3N-YTTA felt something press against the his chest, right over his center processor. He heard the first Omnic lock in the ammunition of his arm-mounted assault rifle.

“Are you or are you not a sympathizer?” The larger Omnics droned in unison.

This was unprecedented. None of this was in his programming. Why was none of this in his programming? He was just a servant-class; he had no business dealing with military units! If only he could get them to understand.

“Gentlemen, please, I assure you--”

“Neutralization imminent in 3...2…”

This was bad. This was very, very bad. If only he could find something in his programming that would--

He heard the gunfire before anything else. Electric-red sparks erupted from the circuitry of the first Omnic as they stumbled and fell. Instinctively, Z3N-YTTA reached up and felt along his body for any damage. Nothing out of place just yet. That was a relief.

Then, out of nowhere, a human female materialized in a blue flash. Where had she even come from?

“Hey, you big bully! Over ‘ere!” The woman called to the second Omnic in an accent native to the region. The military-class turned, and, amazingly, the woman darted down the alley faster than Z3N-YTTA’s processor could, well, process it. It was like she was moving faster than time itself! Though, logically, that was impossible.

He heard the other Omnic shout something about ceasing and desisting as he moved to pursue the woman. He was alone again, for now at least.

Well, today certainly turned out not at all how he had expected it to. He checked in with the time -- oh no, he was going to be late! He quickly moved to sort any fallen items back into his bag. What was Harris going to think?

He jumped; another hand had fallen on his shoulder unexpectedly.

“Oh! My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” The new voice was once again synthetic, but it had a more natural tone to it than any of the previous Omnics he had encountered. How odd...

He felt the stranger help him stand. “Did Null Sector hurt y--”

As Z3N-YTTA turned to face him, the stranger went silent. What? Was something on his faceplate or something? The Omnic began one of his routine environmental scans, and was momentarily taken aback -- did this other green Omnic in front of him have a heartbeat? Not only that, but his medical protocol also warned him of underlying injuries that only a human could susutain. The scans were impossible, considering his current understanding of things. Just what was going on?

“...Zenyatta?” the stranger spoke. His green visor was unreadable.

It was official: today made no sense whatsoever. Z3N-YTTA felt his circuits begin to heat up as he fumbled with his bag; his processor later labeled the feeling as “embarrassment”.

“I’m sorry, but I am very late for something. Thank you for your assistance.” He quickly turned away to continue on his pre-determined route, but not before remembering to whirl back around and give the expected polite bow as he dismissed himself. He left the alleyway and the stranger behind, picking up his pace in order to compensate for his lost time. The awkward encounter was soon forgotten as the manor came into his field of vision a few blocks away. He hoped that Harris wouldn’t be too upset with him for running late again.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant.  
Recognized Forms of Address: Omnic, helper bot, tin-can, scrapheap, useless… Zenyatta (???)._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry this chapter took so long to release! Writer's block plus a bunch of new games is not a productive combination. Still, I hope you all enjoy!

After many hours of intensive deliberation, Z3N-YTTA was, without a doubt, at a loss of what to do.

His multiple data searches regarding the term “Zenyatta” had offered him very little. The only results that ever came up was an ancient rock-band album all the way back from the 1980s (the tunes on it were pretty good, he had to admit) and documentation regarding a female racehorse from the early 2000s, but these ultimately did nothing to help him solve his current predicament. Despite his thorough examination of newspaper archives and broadcast recordings, he had no luck in finding any documented instances of Omnics with human heartbeats either. Analyzing his encounter in the alleyway from about a week prior had already taken up approximately 92.6% of his total allotted free time since the occurrence, yet the Omnic still found himself exactly where he had started.

How confusing! Or maybe the better word to fit the situation was “frustrating”? After a brief cross-reference with his internalized dictionary, he concluded that the best descriptor for his predicament was actually “baffling”.

A part of him wondered if perhaps he was simply delving too deep into things. Whenever he felt his circuits begin to get worked up over his analysis, his programming was kind enough to butt in and remind him of his current prime directive. He was just a servant-class medical assistant, after all; there was little reason for him to be concerned with anything besides the well-being of his patient. Besides, taking into account London’s approximate population of 10 million, there was a very, very miniscule chance of him ever running into that perplexing green Omnic again. No sense in getting so overheated over something irrelevant. Maybe it was best to just give his processor a break and pretend the strange occurrence never happened at all.

It was then that the knock on the door came. As per routine, Z3N-YTTA had been standing obediently off to the side of Mr. Harris’ desk, silently keeping track of the human’s vitals as the elderly man went about his work (the Omnic had been pleased to find out that Harris’ duties nowadays consisted only of minimal paperwork; high-stress activity at his age would be detrimental to his well-being). He observed as a human attendant poked his head through the door to announce that Harris’ guests had arrived.

“Yes, yes, send them in.” The head of the estate waved his subordinate off without even looking up from his paperwork.

Guests? Well, that was certainly a departure from the usual routine. Z3N-YTTA paused his repetitive scans of his master’s blood pressure to muse on the matter for a moment. Ordinarily, Harris insisted that any business dealings that required real-time negation be done through phone or video-call. If business associates were coming directly to the manor, then the Omnic could logically conclude that the subject matter was of utmost importance, whatever it may be.

Soon the office door opened again, and the human attendant led three figures inside and showed them where to sit. Z3N-YTTA automatically increased the range of his initial optic scannings to accommodate for--

Oh no. That heartbeat. The strange readings. _The green visor._ Warning messages flashed in his processor as his sensors triangulated on one of the three visitors. But that’s impossible! Well, not “impossible”, if going by the pure definition of the word. Rather, the correct response should have been “highly statistically improbable”. He had calculated less than a thousandth of a chance of ever seeing this stranger again, and now he was here, literally against all odds, in the office of Mr. Harris’ private estate no less. Why now?

No, he had to focus. He was still on duty after all; Harris was sitting right next to him! What assistant would he be if he was caught gawking instead of performing his function? Z3N-YTTA steeled himself and straightened his back even further, hoping nobody had noticed his brief lapse of composure. He returned to his scans: Harris’ blood pressure and glucose levels were still normal. That was all fine and good. Forcing himself to stare straight ahead, his optic sensors couldn’t help but notice that the woman that had accompanied the stranger in the alley was here, as well as a man dressed in what he recognized as 1870s-era Southwest American traveling gear. An... _interesting_ fashion statement, especially considering--

Wait, did the green Omnic just look at him? Z3N-YTTA let his optic sensors flick back over to the stranger’s direction for a brief moment. Maybe he had been looking at Harris? It was hard to tell with the expressionless shape of his visor-- no, he was _definitely_ looking directly at him. Z3N-YTTA turned his head away slightly to avoid anything that might be mistaken as direct eye-contact. He snuck another quick scan: oh, great, now the woman was stealing glances at him too. Did these people even remember him from almost a week ago? Although he had yet to come face-to-face with any, he was sure that there were many other Omnic models out there that looked just like him. Perhaps--

The sound of a fist pounding the desk jolted him from his thoughts. It was then that he realized Harris was glaring at him, and moreso than usual. A second realization: he had missed the entirety of the conversation between Harris and his guests until that point. Just how long had he been distracted?

“Have you gone deaf, Omnic? I _asked_ you to fetch all of us some water.” The man’s tone was just barely below that of a full yell; Z3N-YTTA suspected that if it was not for the visitors in the room, Harris’ reaction would have been much worse. “Out with you now, and do not embarrass me in front of my guests again.”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Harris. My sincerest apologies. I was merely just--”

“That was an _order_ , Omnic.”

Not wanting to upset his master any more, Z3N-YTTA responded silently with the expected bow and quickly made his exit into a side room adjacent to the main office. According to his etiquette protocol, it would have been impolite to cross directly into the path of the three strangers while they were still discussing business. Not that he necessarily wanted to get all that close to them, anyway; he was sure that all three of them had been paying closer attention to him instead of Harris throughout the duration of the meeting. Why they would all be so fascinated with a lowly servant-class like him, he had no idea, but he was not quite sure if he liked the attention. A part of him hoped that they would all be gone by the time he got back with the pitcher and glasses from the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Harris and his guests were still conversing by the time he returned. Taking a moment to hide any visible signs of distress apparent in his posture, Z3N-YTTA re-entered the room and set the tray of glasses down on the small coffee table between the strangers’ seats and Harris’ desk. The three thanked him as he poured them their respective glass (not sure why the other Omnic needed water, but he just did as he was told), though they each seemed a tad uncomfortable when taking it from him. He noticed the woman and the American share a glance as he turned away. What, did they think he spiked it or something?

Z3N-YTTA had worked with Harris long enough to know that he was still irritated as he approached and offered the drink. Obediently, he backed off to stand at his master’s side again; he was probably in for another chastising as soon as this meeting was over. This time, he attempted to push his worries to the side and actually pay attention to the conversation at hand. It was probably none of his business, but it was something to distract himself from the wandering glances in his direction.

“Well, I think at this point we have established that you all are sure this reformed Null Sector is an imminent threat,” Harris spoke. “Considering the circumstances, I am willing to accept your organization’s services for the time being. However, I hope your superiors know that I am going ahead with the financiers banquet next month, and I expect it to go off without a hitch.”

“Mr. Harris, if I may,” the stranger from the alley interjected, “need I remind you that we suspect Null Sector is preparing to make an attempt on your life?”

Mr. Harris was in _danger_? Just how much of this discussion had he missed earlier?

“Yeah, and in case you’ve forgotten ‘bout the uprising seven years ago, Null Sector is pretty flashy when they wanna make a political statement,” the American in the hat added (it occurred to Z3N-YTTA then that he should probably make note of their names sometime soon). “Don’t ya think a big party like that would put an even bigger bullseye on yer back? Not to mention an event that big could potentially endanger the lives of--”

“I trust Overwatch can handle a few ornery tin-cans. After all, your organization quelled that uprising the first time around...though apparently you didn’t do a very good job at it.” Z3N-YTTA noted that the woman seemed particularly bothered by that comment.

“Now, I believe that concludes our business for this afternoon. Geoffrey will see to it that you all get to your respective rooms.”

Rooms? Z3N-YTTA felt his wires tense. They weren’t going to be staying here for the whole month, were they? He wasn’t sure his processor would be able to handle that much stress. Still, he kept his composure as the attendant entered again to usher the three of them out into the hall, their drinks left practically untouched. Z3N-YTTA watched as the Omnic from the alley turn and glance at him one last time, and surprisingly, he found himself staring back. He tried to ignore the fact that his internal cooling fans were whirling out of control to the point where they were almost audible to those around him. Who was this Omnic? Just what did he want?

The awkward stare was held for a few short seconds, then the woman turned and grabbed her associate by the wrist.

“C’mon now, Genji,” her tone was gentle as she urged him towards the door with a small tug. Z3N-YTTA watched as the other Omnic seemed jolted out of his own thoughts, and he turned to follow the others.

“Right. Sorry.”

Z3N-YTTA did not miss the final glances the pair sent his way as the door to the office finally closed. It was strange; the Omnic’s visor was unreadable as always, but the woman’s expression appeared almost...sad? A rather illogical emotional response, considering they had only been acquainted less than thirty minutes ago.

Given the circumstances, it was clear to him that he was still missing some vital information needed to fully understand the situation, but what exactly that information was, he did not have even the faintest of an idea.

Harris’ coughing brought Z3N-YTTA back to the present, and he let his pre-programmed aide responses kick in to handle the situation. It was a welcomed development; despite all the chaos, it was integral that he remember his purpose above all else.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant.  
Recognized Forms of Address: Omnic, helper bot, tin-can, scrapheap, useless, etc._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

_Secondary Objective(s): Avoid Mr. Harris’ guests, add ‘Null Sector’ to research, research ‘Zenyatta’ further_.

\--

The evening had been rough for Mr. Harris, meaning that Z3N-YTTA had been required to work a few hours overtime in order to help him get comfortable enough for bed. The Omnic was grateful when he was finally dismissed and allowed to go back to his room. The man’s restlessness had drastically cut into the time he would have normally spent browsing information, but who was he to object if his master was in need of assistance? Thankfully, he did not require sleep, so there was still plenty of time until dawn to start compiling a data portfolio for this mysterious ‘Null Sector’ group. 

Unlike his last few search topics, information regarding Null Sector was vast and abundant. Classified as a terrorist organization shortly after making themselves known, they were a group made up primarily of post-Crisis military-class Omnics deemed ‘unsuitable’ for modern society, though some civilian-class units held on to a few positions in the upper ranks--

A knock at his door made Z3N-YTTA jump. What now, a visitor? He had just gotten back! That was odd. All the humans at the estate are normally asleep by this hour. Perhaps another attendant had come to inform him that Harris had woken up again? Either way, it appeared he would have to put his research on hold for a little while longer. Good thing his enhanced patience module was still functioning properly.

Not wanting to keep his guest waiting any longer, he swiftly moved to greet them, making sure his posture was just the right amount of stiff and orderly before opening the door.

“May I help y--” the final word fizzled out in his voice synthesizer. On the other side of the door had been none other than the perplexing green stranger (he somewhat recalled the woman referring to him as “Genji” earlier that afternoon) that he had been specifically trying to avoid, and judging by the slightly-higher-than-average rate of his unnatural heartbeat, his guest was rather apprehensive about the encounter himself.

Couldn’t this guy just leave him alone?

There was a very brief moment of awkward silence before this Genji character cleared his throat, insisting on going ahead with the conversation that apparently neither of them really wanted to have.

“Good evening,” he began with the usual pleasantries, despite it being far past any time that would normally be seen as during the evening. “I am sorry for bothering you so late, but I have been meaning to find a moment to speak with you in private. Am I interrupting anything?”

Z3N-YTTA wanted to tell him that _yes_ , he was indeed interrupting something, and then promptly move to shut the door on him, but alas, that was apparently not a “polite” enough response for his etiquette protocol. Instead, he opened the door a little wider before giving the “proper” response.

“Not at all. Mr. Genji, was it? Please, come inside.” He made sure to keep his tone as pleasant-sounding as possible. His guest seemed to hesitate for a moment, but nevertheless accepted his offer.

“Just Genji is fine. No need to be so formal,” he said as he stepped out of the hallway and into Z3N-YTTA’s quaint little room. “My apologies, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“My unit identification number is Z3N-YTTA,” the Omnic responded automatically. It was an easy enough question to answer by this point; the number had been with him since the day he had been activated, after all. However, he had not expected his guest to flinch a tad at his answer. It was subtle, just a small twitch of uncomfortableness, but his optic sensors had managed to detect it. But why, though? It was just an ID.

“So… you don’t have a name, then?” Genji asked after a moment.

“I am afraid not. Though I do not really see a need for one.” He paused, taking a moment to analyze the latest input from his automatic scans. “Pardon me, but I just detected a small spike in your heart rate resulting from situational anxiety. Am I distressing you at all, sir?”

“No, no, that’s not-- you’re not--” Genji stopped himself mid-sentence, reaching a up to grip his forehead briefly as he let out a quiet sigh. Oh dear, Z3N-YTTA thought, was he getting a stress headache? Wait a minute -- could Omnics even get stress headaches? He wasn’t sure what exactly he was talking to anymore.

“I’m sorry. I’m making a fool of myself,” Genji spoke again after a brief pause. “It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should just go.”

“It’s quite alright, sir--”

“ _Please_ , call me Genji.”

Distress still radiated off of the other (Omnic? man? person?) in waves. Despite his initial apprehension, Z3N-YTTA felt compelled to try and help. Genji may not be his designated patient, but his programming still told him that it was good to help others whenever possible.

“Excuse me, but I can sense that you are feeling rather upset about something. It may not be my place to say, but my emotional support records suggest that sharing your problems with another may help you feel better in the long run. I will respect if you wish to leave, but know that I am willing to listen.”

Z3N-YTTA waited for a response. Anxiously, he reminded himself to keep his back straight; he still had to look formal around Harris’ guests, after all. Genji stared back at him for a long moment through the green of his visor, silence swelling up to fill the small space between them. Then, much to the Omnic’s surprise, Genji let out a small little chuckle. Z3N-YTTA watched as his visitor reached up with both hands to release a latch on either side of his head, his faceplate sliding out of position moments later. He was greeted by human eyes and remnants of a human nose, as well as a generous amount of scar tissue.

“It’s just… it's rather silly, but you remind me of an old friend,” Genji spoke after a moment. Now that his true face was plainly visible, Z3N-YTTA found the man’s new expression rather puzzling. His eyes seemed entrenched with sorrow, yet the scarred remains of his lips were curled up into a small smile. It was as if it contained elements of happiness and sadness alike. After referencing his internalized dictionary, there seemed to be a word for such a paradox: “bittersweet”.

“Is his name Zenyatta?” the Omnic found himself blurting out the question before he could stop himself. He hoped that it didn’t come off as rude. Thankfully, instead of being mad, Genji seemed to perk up a little in response.

“What?”

“Your friend. Is his name Zenyatta?”

“How did you…?”

“You referred to me as ‘Zenyatta’ after you and your associate saved me from Null Sector in that alleyway a week ago,” he began. “I tried to find out more about the term by researching it in my free time, but I’m afraid nothing relevant ever came up.”

He watched as the hope that had appeared in Genji’s eyes extinguish as he gave his explanation. “Oh. Yes, that’s right. I am sorry for any confusion I may have caused.”

It was then that Z3N-YTTA felt a heavy weight that he had never experienced before root its way deep into his central power core. His processor labeled the feeling as “guilt”, but he was unsure what exactly he had done that would cause himself to feel such a way. One thing he knew for certain, however, was that he did not like this new sensation one bit.

“...You know, sir-- I mean, Genji -- during my research, it did not escape my notice that my unit identification number is spelled rather similarly to the name ‘Zenyatta’ if looking at it from a phonetic standpoint. How is he, may I ask?” The Omnic ventured after another pause in conversation. The “guilt” emotion spiked in his core again when he observed how Genji seemed to flinch a second time. “Oh! Forgive me. I can tell it is a sensitive subject. It was wrong of me to intrude on such personal matters.”

“No, it’s alright,” Genji assured him. “You have a point, after all. It seems like a rather strange coincidence. Very well."

After taking another moment to steel himself, the man began to speak, and Z3N-YTTA attentively listened.

“You are aware that my colleagues and I are a part of a peacekeeping organization, correct? Just under a year ago, Zenyatta was another agent that went with us on a mission to Berlin. We were investigating another report of terrorism, but they were able to figure out our movement patterns, and they ambushed us before we were ready. There was a sniper testing out some new charged ammunition, and Zenyatta, he…”

“You do not have to finish.” Z3N-YTTA felt how Genji’s emotions spike with his heart rate as he recalled the memory, and a third pang of guilt washed over his processor. Perhaps he had overstepped his bounds; he was programmed to be a medical assistant, not a therapist. Despite what his emotional support records had told him, he seemed to be only making the situation worse.

It was then that he did something that he hadn’t quite expected himself to do: despite the numerous protests from his formal etiquette protocol, he reached out and placed a gentle hand on Genji’s shoulder.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” he added alongside the motion. Genji looked up at him, almost and the corners of his mouth turned up into another small grin.

“Thank you.”

Just like that, the human’s level of distress dropped significantly. Z3N-YTTA felt a rush of relief. Perhaps his emotional support records weren’t useless, after all. The Omnic took his hand back, letting his posture relax slightly for once.

“I am glad to have been of assistance,” Z3N-YTTA replied in his usual pleasant tone, though he noted it came more easily than usual now, a tad less forced. Genji chuckled again, but the bittersweet look had returned to his face as he moved to replace the faceplate of his visor.

“You are very kind, listening to my plight. But perhaps I am a fool, chasing things that could never be,” he said after a moment. He hesitated another few lengthy seconds, then turned to head towards the door. “I have bothered you enough. Goodnight, Zen--” He froze, stopping himself mid-sentence. “Just...you know...goodnight.”

Z3N-YTTA watched in silence as the man closed the door behind him. He was alone again, finally allowed some time to himself before the morning routine. He still had time to look into Null Sector, but any interest in that topic had escaped him for now. The Omnic moved instead to the windowsill, opening the wooden shutters to gaze out towards the green-blue cityscape on the horizon, to feel how the cold winter air brought a chill to his chassis.

The guilt had not left him.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant.  
Recognized Forms of Address: Omnic, helper bot, tin-can, scrapheap, useless, Zen (Genji only)._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

_Secondary Objective(s): Research ‘Null Sector’ later, talk to Genji and associates later, research connection to Zenyatta further_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classes are hard, writing is harder. Sorry again for how long this chapter took!

Z3N-YTTA was surprised when Genji returned to his door the following evening. The calculations performed after their first conversation had predicted a 73.3% chance of ceased interaction between the two of them, now that the human seemed to have come to a conclusion of sorts about him. This time, Genji came to his room claiming insomnia, though the Omnic’s scans ultimately found no symptoms of such an ailment. He hovered near the door for some time, long enough to strike up some other casual conversation, before saying his goodbyes and scurrying back to his room as abruptly as he had arrived.

Similar rendezvous continued to happen every night for the rest of the week. By this point, Z3N-YTTA had picked up a distinct pattern and calculated Genji’s methodology accordingly: arrive approximately 20 minutes after Harris retires for the evening, bring an excuse of a sore throat, a suspicious cough, a slight headache, and each time Z3N-YTTA’s scans would detect nothing of the like. Then Genji would deflect the conversation to other topics, stay for another 20 minutes, and then hurry back to his room before things could become too awkward between them. Upon the fifth visit, Z3N-YTTA was prepared; he answered the door and immediately offered Genji a seat with a cup of tea in hopes it would expedite things. The cyborg seemed taken aback for a moment, startled at how his careful routine had been broken, before clearing his throat and accepting the invitation. As a result, their talk extended itself late into the night. Time was already dripping into the cold hours of the early morning when Genji finally retired.

Z3N-YTTA had to admit, despite Genji’s rather… strange attempts at initiating conversation, he had grown to like the cyborg’s company. His presence had become somewhat of a welcome respite from the increasing mundanity of the night cycles. Fruitless data searches and a lack of chores to busy himself with had made the hours before dawn rather boring in recent days.

However, as the nightly visits began to grow longer and longer, Z3N-YTTA began to worry about the human’s most basic need for sleep.

“Are you sure you are getting enough rest, Genji?” The Omnic questioned one evening. “If you are to head to bed now, you would only have 4 hours and 26 minutes before the scheduled alarm.”

The cyborg chuckled warmly, holding his teacup delicately in his lap. “I am well aware of my limits. You worry too much, my friend.”

“It is my job to worry, you know.” Z3N-YTTA replied. Out of habit, he conducted another quick scan of Genji’s vitals just to be safe: no outstanding abnormalities. He would drop the topic of sleep for now.

The conversation reached a natural pause. Z3N-YTTA let the servos within his hands enter autopilot, his metallic fingers beginning to trace the smooth rim of his empty teacup as he mused. Even before their comfortable silence, he had grown acutely aware that the man across from him had been staring for quite a while. He was no longer made uncomfortable by it, not since he had logged Genji under “no longer a threat” within his list of acquaintances, but it did not escape his notice how the cyborg almost never took his eyes off of him when they were together. It was quite curious, even a little bit humorous, he had to admit, though he was unsure if the human was even aware of what he was doing.

“...Out of curiosity,” Genji spoke up after a moment, the conversation resuming from its lull, “what did you do before you came to work here?”

“This is my first position. Harris acquired me shortly after my initial activation.” Z3N-YTTA replied honestly.

“I see.” The man’s caramel eyes looked him up and down before taking a sip of his tea. “Harris seems to be rather strict with you.”

“It is true that the man has some high standards, but I suppose there is not much a servant-class like me can do. He is my designated patient, after all.”

The response caused Genji to raise an eyebrow at him.

“You are aware that you could just leave, right?”

The question caught the Omnic off-guard. Genji seemed to notice his surprise and began to elaborate: “Even in a conservative place such as London, most Omnics still have the option of quitting. You could find another patient or a new career entirely. You could even travel the world if that is what you wished. There are other options out there.”

The Omnic sat silent for a moment, contemplating this new revelation. _Leave_? He had thought he had misheard Genji at first before he went on to explain. Such a concept had never even crossed his mind before. He had gone over his etiquette protocols and all of his programmed functions multiple times to ensure utmost efficiency, and none of it had even hinted at the fact that he could just ignore it all, if he really wanted to.

To go against a prime directive… why, the idea still seemed plain silly to him.

“I am sorry, but I cannot possibly do that,” Z3N-YTTA replied after a moment. “Harris would be very disappointed if I left. I would hate to upset him, especially with his Financier’s Banquet coming up later this month.”

Genji grew quiet again, brown irises studying him intently, before another synthetic chuckle rumbled in his chest. He smiled, though his exposed eyes reflected that strange twinge of sadness again; though he may try, the feeling was impossible to hide from Z3N-YTTA’s honed sensors.

“If that is what you have decided.”

The sky’s accumulating brightness outside was a sign for Genji to retire to his own room. As always, he thanked the Omnic for the tea and was mindful to close the door quietly behind him. Z3N-YTTA remained seated where he was, metallic fingers once again fidgeting along the rim of the empty teacup. The odd feeling of guilt had returned to him.

Was he doing something wrong?

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

_Secondary Objective(s): Prepare for Financer’s Banquet: Time Remaining: 15 DAYS._

—

Z3N-YTTA found himself growing quite concerned when Genji did not knock on his door one evening. After a considerable fourteen days of visits in a row, the deviation from such a well-established pattern was definitely enough for worry to start creeping up the back of his circuits. At first he sat and waited for some time; perhaps his guest was just running late and he was merely overreacting. By the time the tea in the kettle had grown cold, the Omnic was unable to keep himself from pacing, his servos too charged with anxiety to sit idly.

Had he done something to offend Genji? If he had, he certainly hadn’t meant for whatever it was to upset him. Or what if Genji never wanted to speak with him again, just like the initial prediction had calculated? Or maybe, again, he was being illogical about things; maybe the answer was a simple one, such the cyborg’s irrational sleep cycle having finally caught up with him. But then again, the man didn’t seem very pleased when he had left the night before…

Regardless of the reason, Z3N-YTTA felt compelled to go and check in on him, just in case. If Genji was indeed upset with him, it would be best to apologize sooner than later, especially with banquet preparations making his day shift with Harris all the more hectic recently.

His concern only deepened when Genji was not in his designated guestroom. Where could he have possibly disappeared to so late? A part of him hoped Genji hadn’t wandered off the grounds of the estate, not with all the rumors and increased sightings of Null Sector units running about. Thankfully, Z3N-YTTA happened to cross paths with Mr. McCree in the hallway not long after. The man looked like he had just finished his nightly smoke (Z3N-YTTA would have scolded him like for that, if he were not so preoccupied) and had a rather generous helping of ice cream with him. As he approached, Mr. McCree tipped his hat politely at him (which he still wore even with his nightwear, apparently).

“Evenin’, bud. I don’t see you wanderin’ around this late all that often.”

“Apologies for bothering you so late, sir, but have you seen your associate Genji anywhere?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him since this afternoon, but if he’s not in his room, he might be up on the roof or on one of the balconies. He’s got a bit of a penchant for high places when he wants to get some fresh air. Might I ask why you’re out lookin’ for him?”

“He and I had some arrangements earlier this evening, and now I am concerned since he never arrived.” Z3N-YTTA replied. Despite the honesty in his answer, McCree wore a curious look for the briefest of moments. Then a realization seemed to dawn on him.

“Oh, I see,” the man said with a chuckle. He reached over to pat the Omnic on the shoulder as he passed by. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

“Um...Yes. I will.” Z3N-YTTA tried not to sound too confused as the human went on his way. Nevertheless, he was glad to have found some leads to Genji’s whereabouts. Picking up his pace, he adjusted his course and continued down the hallway, determination in his step.

—

He found Genji precisely where McCree had suggested to look. The cyborg was sitting perfectly balanced on the railing of the third floor balcony that overlooked Harris’ rear courtyard. Z3N-YTTA felt his wires relax slightly at the sight of him; Genji wasn’t lost and alone out in the city somewhere, after all. Then his atmospheric sensors registered the temperature, and his concern spiked again.

“Are you not freezing?” His etiquette protocol prevented him from fully shouting, but the question was loud enough to startle Genji out of his concentration. Z3N-YTTA watched the cyborg flail and nearly fall back off of the railing before he caught himself. The Omnic silently chided himself as he rushed outside, his medical scanners instinctively clicking on to make the other man was okay.

“My apologies! I should have—“

“No no, it is quite alright,” Genji assured him. He carefully climbed down from his spot on the railing to stand as he continued: “I just did not expect anyone to come looking for me so late. What brings you here?”

“I, well, you see…”

He trailed off. Much to his surprise, Z3N-YTTA found himself struggling to formulate a coherent sentence all of a sudden. The possibility of Genji being upset with him resurfaced at the forefront of his attention, and his scans reported back an influx of various emotions radiating off of the man in waves.

“It is just, well, you did not stop by for our usual visit, and I simply wanted to verify that you were not…agitated, at all.”

“Oh,” Genji’s shoulders slumped forward. “Forgive me, I suppose it was rude of me to not have said anything. My mind has been elsewhere this evening.”

Z3N-YTTA watched the green tint of the man’s visor cast downward as Genji turned to observe the layer of pristine white snow that blanketed the courtyard below, growing quiet again. The Omnic couldn’t help but give an awkward glance over his shoulder back towards the balcony door; Genji certainly seemed distracted tonight, but that was hardly an excuse for him to be out in the cold.

“It is nearing critically low temperatures outside this time of year,” the Omnic gently reminded his associate. “Humans such as yourself can easily contract elevated cases of pneumonia or hypothermia in such conditions. May I ask what brought you out here?”

“Your concern is appreciated, as I have said before.” He paused, his gaze lifting upwards towards the overcast sky for a moment. “I have not seen snow for many a winter now. I know it is rather silly, but the snowfall here has made me ...nostalgic. I thought that perhaps meditating amidst the cold would be enough to clear my head.”

Z3N-YTTA tilted his head at this. Working quickly, he pulled up his data archive and conducted a brief search. The results included small blurbs of description and definition, videos and flowcharts intended for lessons and instruction, not to mention breakdowns of philosophies and methodologies of all kinds.

“Can you show me?” he asked after a moment.

Genji noticeably blinked behind his visor, seemingly taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

The Omnic hesitated for a brief moment. He was not exactly sure how the question had been received.

“This ‘meditation’ you were doing. According to my research, meditation seems to be a healthy outlet for human stress and emotional turmoil,” he elaborated. He paused again, feeling awkward, almost vulnerable, under the unwavering stare of Genji’s visor. “The methodology behind it seems...interesting, you see. Of course, you do not have to indulge me if you do not want to—“

Genji’s laugh filled the cold night air, snapping Z3N-YTTA to full attention. The sound was light and cheery, nothing like the rest of his apparent moodiness that night. A subtle change, but a change nonetheless.

“Of course I can show you! It is no trouble at all. Here,” the cyborg motioned for Z3N-YTTA to follow him down into a sitting position. The Omnic complied, studying each of Genji’s movements with scrutiny and attempting to follow in suit.

The instructions were simple at first: keeping his back straight was something Z3N-YTTA was already familiar with, and reducing his optic radius to better focus was easy enough. He mimicked Genji’s hand positions, making sure his posture matched up perfectly.

“What is next?”

“You sit still,” Genji replied.

“That is all?”

“For now, yes. Just try to sit still and not think about anything.”

How curious. Still, the Omnic was committed to see this exercise through. He adjusted his posture and remained still to the best of his ability. That did not last very long, however: the encroaching cold tickled the sensors down his chassis, causing him to shift uncomfortably with every bit of windchill that passed the balcony. Every time he seemed to right his posture, something else would distract him and cause him to make minor adjustments again.

“Not thinking” proved to be rather difficult as well. If thinking about his posture was not enough, his routine scans and safety warnings kept popping up in the corners of his vision, distracting him with what felt like whole terabytes of irrelevant information. He shifted again in a huff after a few minutes, allowing his shoulders to slouch before glancing towards Genji beside him.

“Is it supposed to be this hard?” Z3N-YTTA asked. Genji stifled another laugh and shifted out of his own meditation, turning to face his neighbor slightly.

“It is difficult for everybody at first. I personally struggled a lot with it,” he said. “My master once gave me a tip when I was first starting out: try counting upwards towards ten, and start over whenever you get distracted. Care to try again?”

The Omnic considered the other’s words for a moment, then nodded. He assumed his posture again, started at one before counting to two, then began again after another temperature update chirped in his head. After some time, he managed to make it to three.

Out past the walls of the estate, London’s nightlife went on around them. Cars passed, people shouted, an owl could be heard passing somewhere overhead. The night was quaint, the freezing air now almost refreshing. Z3N-YTTA began his counting from one again, wondering if he could make it to four sometime before sunrise.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

_Secondary Objective(s): Prepare for Financer’s Banquet. Time Remaining: 14 DAYS._

—

After the first impromptu meditation lesson with Genji, Z3N-YTTA found himself continuing to research the subject in his spare time. While he still needed practice to get a good grasp on how it all works, the various tips and tutorials he found scattered around online seemed invaluable for a beginner such as himself. Each visit with Genji now included at least a few minutes of meditation exercises at the Omnic’s insistence. The cyborg was ever patient with him, offering both helpful insight and kind words of encouragement as they went about the lessons.

He could not let his nights with Genji distract him too much, however. Preparations for the upcoming Financier’s Banquet certainly had Mr. Harris’ stress levels at an all-time high. To compensate, Z3N-YTTA updated his protocol and became more diligent with his scans and checkups as the night of the event drew closer; he couldn’t let his patient give himself some sort of heart condition right before his big night! However, the high stress appeared to give Harris the side effect of a particularly rancid attitude: Z3N-YTTA found himself on the receiving end of a brutal tongue-lashing when he arrived late with breakfast that morning.

“You useless _imbecile_! How long does it take to walk from here to the kitchen? I’m starving over here!”

“Well, if you want an honest answer, sir, a direct roundabout trip between the master suite and the kitchen takes approximately three minutes and—“

“I don’t need any of your sass right now, _Omnic_ ,” Harris spat. The old man practically balked when he finally saw the contents of his breakfast platter. “No bacon? Can’t you do _anything_ right?”

“Sir, the chef and I both agree that you should seriously consider watching your cholesterol. My scans have shown that your LDL levels are—“

A small jolt rippled through him suddenly, the unexpected feedback jarring him enough that it disrupted his voice synthesizer momentarily. It took his atmospheric sensors a few moments after the fritz to realize that the front of his shirt was now soaking wet, and that Harris’ glass of water was empty.

“Well, looks like I finally found the option that shuts you up.” The man’s tone was unsympathetic as his assistant struggled to compose himself. “With all the gibbering you do, I’m beginning to think I should just have my mechanic remove your voice chip. You machines are always better when you’re quiet.”

Z3N-YTTA’s voice synthesizer clicked back on after a moment, resulting in a sound similar to a human awkwardly clearing his throat. His processor was still reeling, static clouding his systems as his aged circuitry tried to recuperate. “B-B-But sir—“

Harris stabbed the air with his knife, pointing threateningly in the Omnic’s general direction with it. “You should watch your tone around me from now on, Omnic. Remember who saved your rusty behind from rotting in the scrapyard. If anything, you should be _grateful_. Do I make myself clear?”

“Well, I—“

“I _said_ , do I make myself _clear_?”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go be a waste of space somewhere else.”

Z3N-YTTA did not hesitate. He silently made his way out of the bedroom, wires running red hot under his plating from sheer humiliation (and also most likely a little bit of water damage). Finally having a moment to himself, he patted down the front of his chest plate to check for any further complications. Thankfully, everything seemed minimal, and it appeared that the majority of his systems had recovered from the initial shock of the water’s intrusion. Still, The wet fabric felt rather uncomfortable against his core processor. The Omnic couldn’t help but let out a small sigh — with no spare shirts in his possession, he was going to have to wait until this one air-dried.

“Is everything alright?”

A familiar synthetic voice from behind him made him jump. Oh goodness, why now of all times?

Z3N-YTTA quickly smoothed out his shirt to the best of his ability before turning around. He had assumed Genji would have been eating breakfast with his associates at this hour.

“Good morning, Genji. I trust you are doing well?”

The cyborg folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, but I asked you how you were fairing. We were able to hear some of Harris’ shouting downstairs. I just came to make sure everything was alright.”

“I am doing just fine, thank you for your concern.” Z3N-YTTA tried to hide the tenseness in his shoulders as he spoke. “Master Harris is just stressed with all the banquet preparations. I do not really blame him for being so upset.”

Even with his visor on, the Omnic was able to tell Genji was giving him a look.

“That doesn’t give Harris free reign to throw water at you, does it?”

“Oh, this?” Z3N-YTTA awkwardly plucked at his shirt to stop the wet spot from clinging to his chest plate. “I have already told you, Genji, everything is fine. The situation has….de-escalated.”

Despite his multiple assurances, the cyborg still did not seem satisfied. With a sigh, Genji placed a gentle hand on the Omnic’s shoulder.

“At least let me help you clean up,” he offered. “Come here, I know a trick to help dry that shirt of yours.”

After borrowing Ms. Oxton’s personal hair dryer and a quick trip to the bathroom, the wet spot on the front of Z3N-YTTA’s shirt was hardly noticeable. He thanked Genji for his assistance as he hurriedly checked his logged schedule, desperate to make up for any lost time. The maids were handling the laundry today, so he crossed that item off the list. The next item was preparing for — oh, no, he had to be with Harris for that, and his master had told him to leave him be the day. That certainly changed up his routine. Hmm. Well, perhaps now that his schedule was free he could go to town and pick up more pharmaceuticals, but with all of Null Sector supposedly patrolling the Omnic neighborhoods of the city…

After some more consideration, Z3N-YTTA found himself at a loss of what to do. Nothing in his schedule seemed to be accomplishable today. But there must be something worth doing, right? It didn’t feel right to just stand around. Harris was upset with him, he had failed in his programming today, and there was nothing he could even do to try and make up for it. Maybe his master was right; he certainly felt pretty useless right now.

A hand gently found itself around the servos of his wrist, causing him to snap out of his musings. Z3N-YTTA looked up to meet Genji’s caramel eyes, unobscured by his visor and welling with concern.

“You seem flustered today,” he spoke. The man kept his voice low, synth calm and even in his throat. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

Z3N-YTTA did not answer immediately; he was too busy studying Genji’s face, examining the the scar tissue along his cheekbones to read for his intentions. Then, silently, he pulled his wrist away, sheepishly shifting his gaze towards the ground as he let his shoulders fold forward.

“Your concern is commendable. I appreciate it, going so far as to worry about a servant-class such as myself,” he spoke after a moment, his synth unusually quiet.

Genji was quick to interject: “You should not speak of yourself like—“

“I believe I now have other matters to attend to,” he lied in return. As of right now, he just wanted to be left alone. He brushed past the cyborg, apologizing for the contact their shoulders made, and attempted to flee down the hall back towards his bedroom.

“Zenyatta, wait—“ The words died in Genji’s throat upon realizing his mistake. A heavy silence suddenly weighed in the air. The Omnic had frozen in place, half-committed to another step forward before he eventually turned.

“Is that the only reason you care for me?” Z3N-YTTA heard himself ask, “because I remind you so much of your deceased master? Is that it?”

The question had remained in the back of his mind for some time, haunting him, kept at bay behind numerous to-do lists and meditation exercises. But here, now, with Genji in front of him, he found that he could ignore it no longer.

The cyborg seemed to hesitate a moment, searching for words, but that was all the proof Z3N-YTTA needed.

“...I see,” he said, beginning to turn away again, “I should have known. I was a fool to think that anyone would show kindness to an Omnic without some form of ulterior motive.”

“Zen, please, you know that is not what I—“

_“I am not Zenyatta.”_ Z3N-YTTA straightened his back, feeling the servos in his hand clench down into a fist. His synth was firm, unwavering, as he turned away from Genji fully. Then he untensed slightly after a moment, voice module softening as he continued: “I could never _be_ Zenyatta, even if I tried.”

Behind him, he heard Genji take a few steps forward, stopping himself abruptly as he grew close.

“What do you mean?” the man asked. Reluctantly, Z3N-YTTA turned towards Genji again, but was intent on keeping his gaze cast towards their feet for the time being.

“I have been pondering over something for a while now, but I never had enough proof to come to a definitive conclusion.” The Omnic chose his words carefully, as if treading on ice, relaying the silent debate he had been having with himself ever since Genji first showed up on Harris’ doorstep. “Your master, Zenyatta. When he was shot down, were you able to recover his body?”

Genji tensed, but answered nonetheless: “No. The ambush was overwhelming, and by the time we were able to go back and look for him, he had been moved. We had assumed Talon had taken him at first, but…”

“Out of curiosity, I once ran a search on my own Identification Number to see if anything ever came up,” Z3N-YTTA spoke again. “To my surprise, it is connected to a retired Omnium near Nepal, not at all where I thought it would be. I also found passages that suggested that my number was scanned into a scrapyard itinerary just outside of Berlin, where your master supposedly perished.”

He paused after that, trusting that Genji would be able to piece together where he was going with this train of logic. After a long bout of silence, the cyborg let out a tired exhale, low and lengthy.

“I tried to tell myself that it was too good to be true, but… I was unable to shake this feeling whenever I looked at you,” he replied at last. “The guilt was horrible at first, thinking such a thing were possible, but now, it looks like my hunch was correct all along.”

Z3N-YTTA startled slightly when one of Genji’s hands finally came down to rest on his shoulder. Tentatively, he looked up from the floor and met the man’s eyes once again. The brown irises held a restrained sadness; in the depths of the Omnic’s core, that sadness pained him.

“You do not remember, do you?” Genji asked. The question seemed obvious, yet he asked anyways, as if he felt compelled to voice it, just to make sure. Z3N-YTTA shook his head, reaching up to take Genji’s metal hand in his own.

“I wish I could,” he replied solemnly. “I have tried to recall something, anything at all, but it appears whatever damage Zenyatta suffered corrupted his memory database. I am just his old Identification Number now. I could never live up to the Omnic you once knew.”

He felt Genji’s grip on his hand tighten slightly.

“Yes, you could,” the man insisted. “You could come back with us to Overwatch. Winston or Torbjörn might be able to fix your memory. Or I could take you back to the Shambali, they could better teach you how to meditate if you’d like—“

Z3N-YTTA politely shushed him with a finger over his lips. With his other hand, he gently removed Genji’s hand from his shoulder and took a few steps back.

“You are very kind, Genji. It was wrong of me to accuse you of anything otherwise earlier.” he spoke evenly, remembering his place as a servant. “But my new place is here. I wish I could leave, but I simply cannot. I am sorry.”

Genji looked about ready to fall to his knees, reaching out a hand that only just missed the seam of the Omnic’s shirt. “Zenyatta, I am begging you—“

“The Financier’s Banquet is tomorrow evening. I recommend that you and your associates finish your defense operations before then, for Harris’ sake,” Z3N-YTTA interjected. He was desperate to change the subject, to stop thinking about the genuine _hurt_ in Genji’s eyes when he had last looked at him. He began to depart down the hallway as he continued his goodbye: “Have a pleasant rest of your morning, Genji. I am truly sorry.”

He left Genji standing there in the hall as he retreated to the safety of his room, not caring if the cyborg attempted to follow; he had made his decision, and he intended to keep it. His new home was with Harris, whether he liked it or not.

Once back in the safety of his room, he locked his door and shuttered the window, desperate for some time to himself. He lay back on the bed and stared straight towards the ceiling, attempting to push thoughts of Genji as far out of his mind as possible.

After all, he had a prime directive to focus on.

_Unit Number: Z3N-YTTA._

_Unit Function: Personal Medical Assistant._

_Prime Directive: Care for Mr. Harris._

_Secondary Objective(s): Prepare for Financer’s Banquet: Time Remaining: 1 DAY._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of spring term is upon us, meaning that I was finally able to sit down and write this last part out. Special thanks to all the people who left kudos/comments to keep me motivated to finish this little character study, and a big bonus shout-out to Becksterres for being an awesome proofreader. Enjoy!

The Financier’s Banquet had begun an hour earlier at precisely 7 PM, and despite the gala having already entered full swing, Z3N-YTTA was unsure of what to make of it.

He took a brief moment to scan the sea of human faces before him. Now that the line of limousines parading through the courtyard roundabout had finally begun to trickle out, the Omnic realized that he had severely underestimated the volume of guests that were attending this evening. No wonder Harris had been so close to pulling his hair out the week prior. While nowhere near being a marketing-class, Z3N-YTTA could still easily infer that this event was likely what held Harris’ business together. Even on the morning of banquet day, Harris had been busy making final preparations, which, to the Omnic’s chagrin, did nothing to assuage the estate master’s frustration. Z3N-YTTA absently let his fingers ghost over a part of his wrist at the thought; he hoped that the candlestick hadn’t left a dent.

While helping his master get dressed for the evening, Harris had repeatedly reminded him that under no circumstances was he allowed to speak to the guests. After all, Omnics were best seen and not heard, especially those with a servant-class designation such as himself. Not that Z3N-YTTA particularly _wanted_ to strike up a conversation with any of the guests, however; most of them that he had encountered so far paid little attention to him, too engrossed in conversations with other wealthy associates about thoroughbreds and golfing trips, yacht clubs and hunting excursions, or the dreaded woes of the stock market to give him barely any more than a second glance. Determined to make himself useful, though, Z3N-YTTA resigned himself to helping the rest of the staff serve drinks for the evening. Being faithful to his prime directive, however, the Omnic still made sure to pass by the VIP table in regular intervals. Never _too_ close, in fear of upsetting Harris with his hovering somehow, but frequently enough so that he could ensure Harris’ vitals remained within a healthy limit.

Although the whole event was a rather large disruption of the typical routine, Z3N-YTTA knew that it was all merely a temporary change. After tonight, the Overwatch agents would depart. The goings-on at the estate would continue as normal, and Z3N-YTTA would be left alone to serve Harris, just as before.

The Omnic startled slightly when someone tapped him on the shoulder, jolting him from his musings and nearly causing him to drop the silver platter he had been holding. He relaxed slightly when he realized that it was only Ms. Oxton. For the banquet, her goggles and jumpsuit had been swapped for a slimming black tuxedo with a sapphire necktie that complimented the hues of her chronal accelerator quite nicely. The woman’s smile was kind, playfully clinking her wine glass with another on the platter as she settled in next to him.

“Hey, Z-3-N, right? You enjoying the party?” she asked casually. Z3N-YTTA was hesitant to answer at first. He cast a tentative glance across the ballroom towards the VIP table and saw that Harris was busy laughing and conversing with a representative from Taiwan. He supposed that Ms. Oxton did not count as an _actual_ guest, technically, and that it was therefore appropriate for him to speak with her.

“I am not used to such large crowds,” the Omnic said after a moment. He turned his attention back at Oxton and tilted his head at her curiously. “Forgive me, but aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”

He watched as Lena glanced over towards a group of businessmen not too far off from where the both of them were standing. The woman rolled her eyes and sarcastically gagged, giggling to herself as she eased back into her usual friendly grin.

“Oh, I can only handle talking to all these rich fuddy-duddies for so long. Besides, Genji and McCree have the eagle eyes up on the roof, and we have backup stationed off-site if Null Sector decides to pull anything. You were just lookin’ rather lonely, love.”

Z3N-YTTA felt his shoulders falter before he could stop himself. Ever since their awkward goodbye from yesterday, he had managed to avoid Genji quite thoroughly, hoping to avoid further painful discussion that way. The Omnic straightened his back again quickly, attempting to mask the small slip in his personable façade as he continued on with the conversation at hand: “Is that so?”

Ms. Oxton appeared to notice her mistake of bringing up the cyborg, however, and her smile faded for a moment. Her brow furrowed in concentration briefly as she studied the Omnic at her side.

“Genji told us, you know,” her voice was suddenly soft, somber, her usual cheeriness absent for now.

_Oh._

Z3N-YTTA let his gaze fall to his feet for a moment, letting go of his mask of formalities completely. No use in hiding his unease from Lena if she already knew.

“...How much did he share, exactly?”

“Enough.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence settled around them after that. On the edge of his optic sensors, he noticed the woman begin to chew her bottom lip as her eyes darted back and forth between passing dinner guests, obviously unsure how to carry on. The Omnic momentarily busied himself by offering a wine glass to a passerby before awkwardly adjusting his bowtie, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight against his chassis.

“He misses you.”

Lena’s soft-spoken words made Z3N-YTTA glance towards the woman for another lengthy moment, but then he forced himself to look away.

“He misses Zenyatta,” the Omnic corrected her.

“But you _are_ Zenyatta!” Tracer turned to face him fully then, nearly spilling a part of her drink as she whirled around. “I know you don’t like to think so, but you and Zen are more alike than you realize.” A pause. “We would all _love_ to have you back, memory or not.”

Z3N-YTTA hesitated at this. He felt a pang of… _something_ register deep within his processor, a great sadness that he could not feasibly quantify with a name.

“I wish I could go with you,” he spoke after another long bout of silence. The synth of his voice modulator was barely audible over the general sounds of the banquet around them. His shoulders tensed again. To even _suggest_ such a desire felt traitorous, like he had failed Harris, failed at his very pre-programmed existence. He was just an Omnic; it was selfish of him to ever consider putting his own happiness first.

He noticed how Ms. Oxton continued to stare at him a moment longer, appearing to recognize his plight by the weight of his words, and frowned in return.

“Zenyatta—“

Somewhere above them, a series of automated gunshots rattled out, startling most of the ballroom. Instinctively Z3N-YTTA looked at Lena, who was reeling from the sudden crackling in her earpiece that was audible enough for even him to hear.

“The comms are being jammed. We need to move.” Tracer’s tone was suddenly serious. She grabbed the Omnic by his arm and tugged, beginning to escort him through the increasing panic of the crowd as the gunfire grew louder.

“But what about Harris?” Z3N-YTTA heard himself ask. Ms. Oxton looked back at him over her shoulder, but before she could reply, a loud explosion rocked the foundation of the estate. The Omnic’s audio receptors were momentarily overclocked from the blast, but after a moment, they recovered just in time to hear human screaming, additional gunfire and the shattering of glass. He looked up to see a military-class Null Sector husk falling from the destroyed central ballroom skylight, nearly crushing a few nearby dinner guests who had thankfully managed to get out of the way. Agent McCree, who had apparently fallen down through the skylight alongside the other Omnic, was not too far away, curling in on himself slightly as he clutched at the side of his abdomen that had taken the brunt of the fall. Whatever it was, his injury had Z3N-YTTA’s medical sensors flashing with a mild red.

“Damn it,” Tracer let go of Z3N-YTTA’s arm as she reached under either side of her suit jacket, whipping out her twin pulse pistols and recalling her ammo into a loaded position. She called to Z3N-YTTA and asked him to help escort the civilians to a safe spot as she darted off, the blue streak of her chronal accelerator trailing behind her as she maneuvered through the crowd towards her injured companion.

Z3N-YTTA’s optic sensors darted from face to frantic face as the dinner guests began to rush past him towards the exits. First thing’s first: he needed to locate Mr. Harris. He tried to weave his way through the chaotic crowd, apologizing every time he happened to bump into someone (which was often) as he made his way towards the VIP table. Harris, forgotten by the other VIPs in the scramble for the exit, was having a difficult time maneuvering his chair out of an awkward angle, but besides his understandably-elevated heart rate, he seemed relatively unscathed. For now, at least.

“There you are! It’s about time,” Harris complained as his assistant grabbed a hold of his chair. The two of them turned only to find that two additional Null Sector units had surrounded them. At the sight of the arm-mounted rifles, Z3N-YTTA instinctively raised his hands above his head as his programming instructed. Harris, however, just seemed to sneer at the Omnics cornering them.

“Theodore Harris,” one of the Null Sector units rumbled as they took aim. “Your firearms manufacturing company has contributed to the destruction of countless Omnics. For your crimes against our people, you will be _terminated_.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you tin-cans give people a good excuse to shoot you!” Harris fired back. Z3N-YTTA, in the meantime, knew that he had to act fast. If he just continued to stand there, these Null Sector agents were going to gun down both him and his patient. His optic sensors darted about the ballroom. The majority of the civilians had escaped to elsewhere in the manor. Tracer and a winded McCree were preoccupied fighting another, larger unit that carried a shield. He was on his own.

His gaze fell towards the table separating he and Harris from the two other Omnics, and in that moment, he had an idea.

“Apologies in advance for what I am about to do, sir.”

“What?”

Instead of replying, Z3N-YTTA planted his foot against the back of his master’s chair and kicked outward, sending a startled Mr. Harris careening a few good meters forward. Both Null Sector units naturally turned to keep their aim trained on their primary target, momentarily forgetting their target’s assistant. Z3N-YTTa then quickly flipped the table forward as hard as he could. It crashed into both units and knocked one of them off-balance. While the one still on their feet was still reeling, Z3N-YTTA picked up the closest heavy object he could reach (a chair) and quickly moved to smash it over the Null Sector unit’s head. Wood splintered as the other Omnic fell limp, wires sparking from underneath a considerably large-sized dent. Z3N-YTTA took a brief moment to look at the crumbling piece of furniture still in his grasp. It appeared that he had underestimated his own strength.

Harris’ cursing off to the side returned his attention to the task at hand. Z3N-YTTA rushed over to where his master had fallen out of his chair in order to assist him in getting back up. They still had to move, and quickly.

“Goddamn Omnic! What the hell did you do _that_ for?!” Harris shouted. The man almost shook off his assistant’s touch, but seemed to think better of it when he realized he would be unable to get into his chair on his own.

“It granted us a few more seconds, did it not?” Z3N-YTTA replied as calmly as he could manage. The sound of a rifle reloading caught both of their attention; the Null Sector unit that had only been knocked down by the table was still determined to complete its mission. Z3N-YTTA instinctively raised an arm over his faceplate as he braced for the hail of bullets; apparently, a few more seconds had not been enough.

The sound of metal clashing against metal and the lack of bullet holes riddling his chassis made Z3N-YTTA look up. Genji towered over the Null Sector Omnic, his body enveloped by a mysterious green glow as he sliced deep into the robot’s chassis with his sword. The Omnic’s red optic sensor pathetically flickered out as the cyborg withdrew his blade, the strange glow vanishing the moment the sword clicked into place within the sheath on his back. It may have been a side-effect from his auditory receptors nearly malfunctioning earlier, but Z3N-YTTA swore he had heard the fading roar of a great beast as the green light subsided.

Z3N-YTTA felt his processor soar with relief as Genji approached; the cyborg’s vitals remained normal, signaling that he had yet to take any considerable damage. Genji knelt down next to the others for a moment, a set of three shurikens already primed in his hand in case Null Sector tried to interrupt them again.

“Are you alright?” Genji asked. His synthetic voice was filled to the brim with concern; if the situation at hand had not been so dire, Z3N-YTTA would have found the cyborg’s open compassion humorous as well as endearing.

“For now. I am glad you seem unharmed as well.”

A loud, disgruntled clearing of the throat alerted both of them to Harris still stranded on the marble tile.

“I’m _waiting._ ”

“Right. Yes,” Z3N-YTTA awkwardly brushed himself off as Genji helped him stand. The two of them quickly worked together to right the hoverchair and maneuver Harris back into his seat.

“Backup is on the way. For now we just need to keep Null Sector occupied,” Genji spoke. The ground rumbled again from another explosion shook the estate. Across the ballroom, Tracer and McCree had dispatched the shieldbearer and had moved on to deal with three additional transport pods that had dropped in from the numerous holes in the ballroom ceiling. Z3N-YTTA heard Harris mutter something about repair expenses under his breath, but decided that now was not the time to comment on it. The Omnic felt Genji firmly grip his shoulder as he urged both him and Harris to keep moving.

“The guests have hunkered down in the estate’s wine cellar. Go! I will cover for you.”

Z3N-YTTA did not have to be told twice. With Harris in tow, the Omnic dashed for the ballroom door, keeping his head low to better avoid incoming fire. Genji lagged not too far behind, tossing shurikens with deadly accuracy at any Null Sector unit that tried to intercept them. Z3N-YTTA rounded the corner into the next hallway and abruptly stopped; two more standard Null Sector units and a larger, bulkier unit with a back-mounted minigun stood before them, locked and loaded. Suddenly Genji dashed around the corner and charged for the first of the two troopers, grabbing the wakizashi at his hip and stabbing it into the wires of the Omnic’s neck. With the units distracted, Z3N-YTTA whirled Harris’ chair around and hurried down the adjacent hallway, inconvenienced but ultimately headed towards the wine cellar regardless. Worry trembled in his processor as the gunfire behind him grew more and more intense the further he ran, but he forced himself to keep going, for Harris’ safety and for his own. Genji was a trained professional with years of experience, and had survived countless battles of such caliber in the past. Surely he could handle a few rogue military Omnics on his own… couldn’t he?

Rounding another corner, the entrance to the wine cellar came into view. A few straggling guests were still rushing into cover, and a human gentlemen had enough sense to hold the door open for them as they approached. Z3N-YTTA hurried Harris forward and handed him off to the man, ignoring how his master jeered at him with a passive-aggressive “about time!”, and was about to follow the two humans into the safety of the cellar before he felt himself freeze in place. The Omnic spared a glance back down the hallway he had just come from. The gunfire encompassing the entirety of the estate had not ceased; the worry had rooted itself deep within his core.

Halfway down the stairs, the businessman paused to look back at him over his shoulder. “Hey, you coming or what?”

Instead of answering, Z3N-YTTA gripped the edge of the heavy door and slammed it shut, pressing against it with his shoulder until he heard the industrial security lock activate and click into place. He had succeeded in his primary objective. Harris was safe and away from harm. Now, he had other directives to attend to.

Hurrying back down the hall, he began to retrace his steps. He needed to find Genji. It was wrong to leave him alone with so many units flooding the estate. He came upon a lone trooper patrolling the hallways, but Z3N-YTTA was determined. He braced with his shoulder rammed into the other Omnic full-force, knocking them into the wall as he continued to sprint past. It was not much longer until he came upon the hallway from before. Genji had his katana in hand again, pulling the blade from the back of another Null Sector unit and shaking it free of tangling wires. A small portion of Z3N-YTTA’s worry was assuaged when he saw the cyborg was still standing, but all was not well: Genji’s breathing was labored, and his free hand clutched at a wound in his side, a mix of blood and oil dripping between his metal fingers.

A glint of movement caught Z3N-YTTA’s attention. Behind Genji, a fallen Null Sector unit had not been fully incapacitated. Despite the damage they had sustained, it took aim at the cyborg’s back and began to charge up one last attack. Z3N-YTTA saw a surge of electricity arch off of the other Omnic’s weapon and reacted before logic could catch up to him.

“Look out!” He rushed to Genji just as the Null Sector Omnic fired.

For a moment, Z3N-YTTA felt as though he was acutely aware of everything, as if time itself had started to move slower. Genji had begun to turn, instinctively raising his blade to deflect but being ultimately too slow as the projectile approached. Z3N-YTTA felt his shoulder collide with Genji’s side, causing them both to stumble. Genji caught himself against the wall and looked up at Z3N-YTTA just as the Omnic felt something else strike his torso, just below his central processor. Then pain, static overwhelming most of his processes, and slowly Z3N-YTTA knew no more.

—

_[Performing system diagnostics…]_

At first, there was just blackness. Z3N-YTTA was unsure of how much time had passed before he felt his central processor reactivate. This felt different than his first activation: dark and uncomfortable, and not at all refreshing. His limbs (the ones he could still feel, at least) seemed unnaturally heavy, his servos refusing to respond when he attempted to move. If his voice module had been active, he would have made a small noise of discomfort at the residual static charge that twitched down his back every so often.

_[Diagnostics complete. Reboot successful.]_

His auditory receptors turned on before anything else. Somewhere above him, he heard two humans whose voices he did not recognize speaking to one another, a male and a female. A chuckle; whoever he was, the man seemed rather pleased with himself.

“See? What did I tell ya? Just needed a bit of the Lindholm finesse.”

“Are you sure he won’t need a replacement power core, Papa? 20 Kilowatts to the chest could have easily fried it.”

“He powered _on_ , didn’t he?”

Their discussion continued as Z3N-YTTA optics sensors came online, and he turned his head away from the sudden rush of input. All of it was glitchy and distorted, his vision crackling with some more static as his processor tried to make sense of the bright lights and the feedback. When his sensors finally calibrated, he looked up and realized the two bickering humans had paused their argument in order to stare down at him. The first was a short, stocky man with a false eye and a greying blond beard. The second, a younger woman with a long red ponytail and a full set of combat armor, waved a gloved hand over his faceplate for a moment.

“You alright there, sleepyhead?” The woman asked in a jovial tone. A tad strange that she seemed so happy, Z3N-YTTA mused, considering that one of the most recent entries logged into his memory core involved half of the estate getting destroyed.

“I have felt better,” he replied after a moment. His voice module had been the last thing to fully power back on. Slowly the Omnic tried to sit up, the feedback from his servos still clunky in some places, and he realized that his dress shirt had been removed. Noticing his confusion, the woman reached off to the side before presenting him both his missing shirt and his newsie cap.

“Here you go! I figured you didn’t want us to get them all dirty. I’m Brigitte, by the way. Over there is my papa, Torbjörn.”

The man from earlier gave a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement over his shoulder as he continued to pack up his toolbox. Absently, Z3N-YTTA waved back before he thanked Brigitte for her foresight. While still a bit sluggish, the Omnic had enough dexterity left in him to slip into the sleeves of the shirt before beginning to re-button the front. Now that most of his programming was back online, Z3N-YTTA took the opportunity to survey his surroundings briefly. While inactive, he had apparently been moved back into the ballroom at some point, where the majority of the civilians had regathered as well. By the lack of artillery echoing around the estate, he assumed Null Sector had been thoroughly dealt with. His warning sensors alerted him that some of the guests had been injured, but most of them appeared to have been treated already. The local authorities had also arrived sometime during his blackout, although most officers appeared to be preoccupied with gathering up the fallen shells of the Null Sector units scattered around the estate.

“You took a pretty hard hit there, you know,” Brigitte spoke after her brief pause. “You’re lucky we happened to get here when we did.”

“Indeed.” Absently, Z3N-YTTA reached for his chest, hand covering the spot where he remembered the volt cartridge striking him. “I sincerely thank you—“

“Zenyatta!”

A force practically tackled him then, nearly knocking him flat on his back a second time. Z3N-YTTA felt Genji pull him closer to his chest.

“You’re okay.” Genji’s voice was softer, sounding more natural without his faceplate, and was filled with an air of something close to disbelief. After a few seconds of sitting there like a deer in headlights, Z3N-YTTA allowed himself to wrap his arms around Genji’s torso in return. The Omnic said nothing as he leaned his forehead against the cyborg’s shoulder, relishing in the tranquil feeling that swelled in his processor as he permitted himself this gentle moment of sincerity.

“Genji, what did I tell you about rushing around like that? Your coolant system was punctured.” Another woman spoke next. Z3N-YTTA felt Genji let go of him as they both turned to look up at the blonde that was currently hovering over them, hands on her hips. Genji laughed nervously, awkwardly reaching to prod at the back of his neck.

“Apologies, Dr. Ziegler. I just, you know...” he trailed off. Off to the side, Brigitte teased the cyborg with a giggle before she stood to go help her father finish packing up. Dr. Ziegler’s brow was furrowed for a moment longer, but her pursed lips soon softened into a concerned frown. She sighed.

“I know. Just be careful with the sealant, alright? I am thin-spread as it is.”

“Understood. Thank you again, Angela.”

The good doctor left them after that. Z3N-YTTA’s optic sensors followed her for a moment as she moved to check in with some injured civilians along the other side of the ballroom. With Genji’s assistance, Z3N-YTTA was able to rise to his feet. He stood upright for a moment on his own, but soon he stumbled, another jolt of the residual static making his knees feel nonexistent beneath him. Thankfully, Genji caught him, looping his arm through the Omnic’s to help keep him upright.

“Easy now,”  said the cyborg. Another pause. “...I suppose I should thank you for what you did. It was… very noble of you.”

“Yes, well, it just did not feel right, leaving you alone to fend off an army on your own,” Z3N-YTTA replied. The man at his side smirked in response.

“Like that hasn’t stopped me from taking on an army before,” Genji teased. The Omnic couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, the sound smooth like honey as it rumbled within his synth.

“Well now, look who’s up and walkin’!” McCree’s cheerful southern accent easily cut through the general sound of the ballroom as he and Lena approached. Both agents appeared relatively unscathed, but it did not escape the Omnic’s notice that the cowboy now walked with a small limp. Tracer flashed them one of her signature smiles as she gave a mock-salute in lieu of a wave.

“Glad you’re still with us, love! Null Sector was getting rather nasty near the end there.”

“O’course, nothin’ us trained professionals can’t handle,” McCree tipped his hat back as he pulled out a celebratory cigar. Z3N-YTTA heard Genji snicker beside him.

“Says the ‘professional’ who tripped and fell through a skylight,” the cyborg jested.

“Hey now, I didn’t trip! That shield fucker right pushed me.”

“In all honesty, I am surprised you didn’t end up breaking your hip. You are getting _awfully_ old.”

“You say that like you ain’t only three years behind me.”

Lena giggled, and Z3N-YTTA felt rather amused as well. Although he had really only known these people for barely over a month, had grown quite accustomed to their company. Almost like—

“ _There_ you are!”

The Omnic couldn’t stop himself from wincing. He would recognize that disgruntled baritone anywhere. He turned his head to watch as Harris approached. He was being tailed by an increasingly-impatient Dr. Ziegler, who was apparently still trying to help him with his blood pressure. Upon surveying the situation, the doctor rolled her eyes and gave up, hurrying away to deal with some more willing patients.

“It’s about _time_ those two got you operational again. I’ve been waiting for my insulin for two hours because of that stunt you pulled! What service bot are you, anyway? _Honestly._ Keep up this shoddy performance and I’ll be sending you back to the scrapheap where you belong!”

Z3N-YTTA felt Genji’s grip on his arm tighten slightly. Off to the side, McCree bit deeper into his cigar while Lena appeared none too pleased.

“This ‘service bot’ just helped to save your _life_ , you know!” The woman jabbed an accusatory finger at the older man before her hands settled on her hips. “I believe you owe him an apology.”

Harris simply scoffed as he began to turn his chair away.

“If anything, I owe it another lecture. You, Omnic, let’s get going. I still need someone to fetch my pills.”

For once, Z3N-YTTA hesitated.

“No.”

Harris froze mid-turn, looking back over his shoulder with a glare mean enough that it sent a chill down through Z3N-YTTA’s wires.

“ _What_ did you say?”

“I said, no. I do not wish to work here anymore.” the Omnic repeated himself.

What was he _doing_? He had no right to be talking back to his patient, his owner, like this. If he kept this up, Harris would strip him of his speaking privileges for sure. Still, he had committed to it, and he wasn’t about to back down now. “I quit.”

Harris could only grit his teeth.

“You can’t say ‘no’ to me! You have no right! Remember who _owns_ you, you ungrateful—“

“ _Actually_ , bigshot, you don’t own anything anymore,” McCree suddenly chimed in. Harris turned and looked at him like the man was insane. As if on cue, Lena pulled out a small tablet device from her suit jacket and handed it to the man beside her. McCree smirked as he produced a small SD card from the inside of his hat, clicking it into place within the tablet’s access slot. Moments later, the device’s screen turned on, and several document images were projected into the air as holograms. Jesse took a moment to thumb through a few.

“Let’s see here, tax evasion, insider trading, purchasing an Omnic from an unlicensed dealership, black market dealings, underpaying workers… I could list a few more, but I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

Harris sat there absolutely flabbergasted, mouth partially agape as more and more documents appeared through the holograms. The elderly man swallowed hard.

“How on earth— why do you have those?!”

Agent McCree just smiled as he chewed on his cigar. “You didn’t _really_ think we were just here to babysit you, now, did ya? Two birds one stone, I always say.”

McCree as Lena exchanged a celebratory fist bump. Two officers approached the group then, one taking the tablet of evidence while the other placed a set of handcuffs over Harris’ wrists. The man’s hands balled fists as he was escorted away, unable to protest much within the confines of his chair.

“I’ll get you for this! Wait until you all hear from my lawyer!”

Theodore Harris was able to shout a few more choice sayings in their direction before the authorities managed to escort him out. Once he was gone, Lena reached up and awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck.

“Man, rich people are arseholes,” she mumbled.

Meanwhile, Z3N-YTTA still attempted to process everything that had just happened. Harris no longer owned him, or rather, never rightfully owned him at all. His obligation to the man was suddenly null and void. He was able to go wherever he wanted, _do_ whatever he wanted, with no prime directive telling him what to do. It was as though a whole new realm of possibilities had just opened up for him. It was exciting. It was _terrifying._ Was he even ready for such an opportunity?

Genji’s grip on Z3N-YTTA’s arm shifted again after a moment, bringing the Omnic back to the present. Z3N-YTTA looked up to meet the man’s eyes and knew something important remained unspoken behind his lips. The Omnic could take an easy guess at what it was.

“Do you have something you wish to ask me?” Z3N-YTTA prompted for him. Genji nearly startled at the straightforwardness, surprised that he could still be read so easily, like an open book, before he cleared his throat and steeled himself.

“Well, it appears that you are out of a job,” the cyborg began tentatively, careful with his words, “if you are interested, I am sure that you are aware that Overwatch would appreciate your company.”

His first decision as a free Omnic, yet the choice seemed so easy.

“I would love to accompany you,” he agreed.

Genji just beamed.

“Then let’s go home.”

—

Z3N-YTTA liked the sunrises of Gibraltar. No, not Z3N-YTTA anymore, he reminded himself. He was Zenyatta now, or rather, again. Different from before, yes, but nevertheless he had come to accept that it was the same processor pulsing within his chest. Names carried with them great importance, he had learned, and therefore it was important that he had a proper name.

So instead, Zenyatta liked the sunrises at Gibraltar. He appreciated how the gentle grey hues of the pre-dawn sky gradually transitioned into pinks and yellows as the sun rose up from distant waters along the horizon. Sitting atop the cliffs above the Watchpoint first thing in the morning always presented him a good opportunity to reflect.

His first two months with Overwatch proved to be a bit of an adjustment, but a welcomed one at least. He recalled the day the London team had first returned to base. Lena had called ahead during the long flight back to Spain, informing the rest of the team of the situation, so when Zenyatta had first stepped off of the dropship he was immediately swooped up and pulled into a hug by two other Omnics, a first-era Bastion and a refurbished OR-15. The rest of the team seemed happy to welcome him back as well. Zenyatta had been tempted to ask why there was a sentient gorilla among the leaders of the operation, but he soon realized that it was probably best not to question it.

While Overwatch insisted that they simply appreciated his company, Zenyatta did not feel comfortable just sitting idle. In exchange for the organization’s hospitality, he decided shortly after his arrival to take up cooking. Experimenting in the kitchen kept his hands occupied during the late nights when most of the humans on base were asleep, and many agents were more than willing to taste test whatever low-cholesterol meal he had come up with for breakfast. It was no surprise that it was Reinhardt who enjoyed his cooking the most. Due to the man’s colossal size, it was a miracle he didn’t single-handedly eat the base out of their food budget.

Zenyatta glanced down to the small orb that rested in his palms in his lap. An old relic of his that Genji had managed to salvage from the incident in Berlin, so he was told. He had grown accustomed to holding it during meditation practice, as it gave him something tangible to focus on. The orb proved to be a curious little thing; he was certain that in his last life he had known what the strange engravings on it signified, but for now, they perplexed him.

“Is everything alright, Zenyatta?” Genji’s voice asked to the Omnic’s left. Zenyatta looked over to the man seated beside him.

“Of course,” he replied. Absently, his metal thumb traced along the engravings of the orb as he looked out to sea. “The sunrise is quite nice this morning, is it not?”

Out of the corner of his optic sensors, he noticed how Genji continued to stare at him a moment longer. Then the man chuckled, turning his own attention to the sight in front of them.

“I suppose it is.”

Clasping the Shambali relic in his hands, Zenyatta returned his attention to the lesson of the morning. Genji’s counting trick had paid off in time, and he was now able to make it to number seven quite reliably. The breeze that ghosted along his faceplate was cool and refreshing, and it set his systems at ease. Here among the high cliffs of Gibraltar he was happy; here, he was free.

In his lap, the orb chimed, the engravings flushed with a golden hue.

_Unit Name: Zenyatta._

_Prime Directive: Exist._


End file.
